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Wednesday, December 11, 2013

I’m eternally grateful that, when looking in the mirror at my bloodshot eyes, blistered lips, and cracked, swollen face that miserable morning in Sweden, I remembered dad and the mental training. I remembered the fact that my teammates and I had stood together, united on the starting line days ago, and pledged not to quit. These two elements of my mindset--intentional mental training and an uncompromising commitment--made all the difference in the world at my moment of truth.

I walked out of that bathroom with a smile on my face and a fire in my heart, and we hopped--well, slowly climbed--onto our bikes with skis duct taped to them, and pedaled down the road.

Forty miles of mountain biking brought us to a transition area where we dismantled our bikes for the fourth or fifth time in the race, packed them in bike boxes, and loaded them on a semi truck that would transport them to the finish. We continued forward on the race’s queen stage, a long and challenging segment involving a mix of trekking, skiing, snowshoeing, winter mountaineering, and via ferrata (big in Europe, it essentially involves rock climbing where metal holds and cables have been drilled into the rock for protection). We carried gear for all of these disciplines and chose between trekking, snowshoeing, and skiing based on the conditions at any given time. Darren Clarke, the hard-nosed Aussie who woke me earlier, had never skied, but he actually turned out to be pretty good!

In the middle of that night, during a blizzard, things were getting dire as we skied along. Everyone was falling asleep--literally, falling asleep while cross country skiing. It sounds crazy, but falling asleep while biking, trekking, kayaking, or doing something else is not uncommon in adventure racing. Karen’s feet needed some attention, but we knew that stopping in the blizzard could be life-threatening. When we stumbled upon a remote cabin, which I think must have been an outpost for the Swedish equivalent of the Forest Service, it was clear that taking shelter was a must.

We used our snowshoes to dig out a snow drift in front of the door and found the Adventure Racing Holy Grail: a dry dwelling with a woodstove, wood, and newspaper. The fire was blazing within minutes, and I didn’t even wake up when I fell off the little bench I was sleeping on.

Possibly because it occurred in a warm room instead of a frozen parking lot, this hour of rest proved more rejuvenating than the last, and we headed out into a sunny day ready to take on the world, as it were. Another day of skiing, trekking, and via ferrata brought us to the finish line late in the afternoon. We crossed the line in 6th place, proud to have accomplished something that served as a legitimate test of mental fortitude.

Over half of the teams that started—the top teams in the world—did not finish, and we only made it through because of a pre-race commitment not to quit. Explore Sweden still stands as the toughest single competition I have done. It’s a good thing I had done some mental training. Completing the race deepened my resolve and broadened my perspective, making something like completing the Leadman series almost ten years later seem relatively short and simple.

Dad was right. It really is all good mental training.

It’s all good mental training.

It’s all good mental training, read fluidly, denotes the worldview that challenges are part of life, and that viewing them as positive—and even essential—instruments of “mental training” that build, pebble by pebble, a mountain of inner resilience can and will allow you to complete literally anything to which you deeply commit. These challenges and mental training, moreover, when experienced through pursuits of choice (mine are things like running 100 miles and adventure racing for a week without really sleeping—yours can be whatever you “like” to do) generate an incredible well of resolve that allows us all to persevere through the truly challenging, mandatory suffering dished out so ruthlessly by life. And I don’t need to tell you what that is because you’ve already faced it and will do so again. Be prepared.

It’s all good: mental training, with those two small, but significant dots indicating a pause and so much more, describes the purpose of this text. The positive outlook, it’s all good, provides a foundation for the intent of the principles I will describe, tried and true from the world of ultra endurance racing at the elite level. I like to think that, taken as a whole, such principles and the stories that prove their worth exist here as a course in mental training that leads to an ultra mindset for work, family, athletics, and life. Take what works for you, apply it to your own life, commit to something big, achieve peak performance, and come out on the other side with a winning outlook that allows you to do even more next time.

My advice is to think about training your mental toughness like you would train a muscle. Or better yet, like you would train a group of systems--arms, legs, heart, lungs, skills--to work together. To get them ready for a task or event, you would practice in intentional ways and undergo simulations to bring them closer to readiness for the final test. Mental training happens the same way. In Succeed: How We Can Reach Our Goals, research psychologist Heidi Grant Halvorson, Ph.D., identifies self control as a foundational element of reaching success, and I think her research is correct. Reaching a goal, the most fundamental level, essentially requires doing, in a given moment, what you need to do to reach the goal, which is often not what you feel like doing--and that’s where training in self control kicks in. When I have already run 60 miles and have 40 more to go, do I feel like running 40 more? I like--no, love--running, but of course I don’t feel like running 40 more miles after running 60! No one does. Luckily, though, the latest research on the subject supports the idea that self control really can be grown and trained, just like biceps, pecs, and quads.

What thoughts usually run through your mind when you are suffering? Would your outlook and performance improve if, when taking on a challenging task, you told yourself, “This is all good mental training”? What challenges are you required to face in your life? What challenges do you take on by choice? Could taking on additional challenges by choice or viewing those you already engage in as mental training make you better prepared for the challenges you are required to face? Do you want to improve your mental toughness? How will you begin your mental training before the end of the day today?

__________________________________

If all goes as planned, this story and others will become a book intended to help readers develop a winning mindset for work, family, athletics, and other areas of life. If you happen to be an interested publisher, please drop me a line at travis.macy@gmail.com.

Monday, November 25, 2013

The distant, Aussie accent sound vaguely familiar, but when I opened my eyes, read 4:21 a.m. on my watch, saw a cloudy but sun-brightened sky, touched a helmet on my head that had probably been used as a pillow, brushed a coat of snow off my sleeping bag, and felt the cold pavement on which I had been slumbering so deeply, I was in a thick fog of confusion.

I’ve never been in a war, but my guess is that the fog of adventure racing is about as close to the fog of war that you can get without actually being shot at.

Momentary panic due to my unknown time and place shifted to a calm but overwhelming confusion. Why was it light out at 4:21 a.m.? How come my head hurt so bad? Why were my feet throbbing? How did my mouth get so raw, and why were my lips covered with sores? Did I really have blisters on my ass? It sure felt like I did. Why was I starting to shiver uncontrollably? Was I really this hungry? Unbelievable!

“Trav! Get the hell up!”

Darren’s harsh but matter-of-fact tone snapped me back to reality.

The hustled gear scramble of my teammates, Darren, Paul, and Karen, reminded me that we had been sleeping in a parking lot that served as a remote checkpoint in northern Sweden for the Explore Sweden Adventure Race. Adventure races involve the core disciplines of running/trekking, mountain biking, fixed ropes (rappel, tyrolean traverse, and more), paddling (kayaks, rafts, canoes, etc.), and navigation with map and compass. Whereas a triathlon involves set distances for each sport that are consistent from race to race, adventure races throw together disciplines in a helter-skelter format that matches with the land and local culture. In addition to the core sports above, adventure races also include, from time to time, region-specific events like horseback riding, camel trekking, rock climbing, zip-lining, mountaineering, skiing, and the “princess chair” (a Chinese event in which three teammates carry the fourth in a bamboo chair with long handles that looks like something from a Disney movie). It’s a team sport, and most races involve coed teams of four racing non-stop for a week or so for an “expedition race” or in stages that involve 8 to 12 hours of racing each day with a bit of rest in a tent overnight for a “stage race.”

Explore Sweden 2005 was my first real expedition race, and I was a green 22-year-old on a team of gritty, experienced athletes who were racing for the podium against the best teams from Sweden, France, New Zealand, Australia, America, Norway, Russia, Poland, and elsewhere. If I hadn’t been ready to shit my pants at the the starting line, I sure was now as the enormity of what we had done--and still had to do to get to the finish--set in while I began gathering up gear for trekking, winter mountaineering, snowshoeing, skiing, and rock climbing. All of this would be somehow transported on an my bike for a 40-mile ride to the start of the mixed winter sports segment.

Stumbling through gear in a hazy stupor, I recalled our journey over the past three days and nearly-sleepless nights.

During the first paddling section, our two-person sea kayak flipped over in a large, fast, ice-lined river. After a dreadful swim in cold, fast whitewater, we somehow righted it and continued forward. The long, narrow lake at the end of the river was covered with ice. Thin ice. As we forged on, kayaks in tow, to the transition area at the end of the lake, we repeatedly broke through the ice and had to use the ice picks that were part of the mandatory gear to pull ourselves out of the water. Thankfully, we wore personal flotation devices and wetsuits, but it was still cold. Very cold, especially under the ice. After a mile or so of that break through / climb out / pull the boats further dance, we reached a transition area. There we stripped naked in the snowy air, put on cycling clothes, built up our bikes from the pieces that were packed into boxes for transportation to the remote location, and rode out into the swamp where, hours later, we would have to urinate on our frozen bikes to make the chains spin again.

That was the first half of the first day.

We later navigated on foot through an endless orienteering section in a swamp with thin ice (fragile enough to break through, solid enough to cut the shins) just above cold, knee-deep water.

Nights involved extended daylight at the high latitude, an hour or so of sleep on the side of the trail before we woke up shivering, and plenty of hallucinating (I’ll never forget the entire Team Montrail jumping out of the woods to chase us down in one of those visions).

One portage--that’s when you still have kayaks but there’s no water, so they must be carried or rolled on carts--spanned almost 20 miles of pavement.

The race had been brutally cold, with plenty of snow and rain, and some of the top teams like Team Nike, hands-down the best team in the world, had dropped due to illness, injury, and the simple fact that a lot of this was not very fun.

I was exhausted, sleep-deprived, and completely wrecked from head to toe when I stumbled into a bathroom, looked in a mirror, and received a horrifying shock.

My eyes were bloodshot, my face was puffy and red, and blisters lined my lips. My matted hair resembled something from a woolly mammoth sample at the museum, and I looked like a druggie after a binge. Many zombies from the movies from the movies are much more attractive than I was at that moment. I felt worse than I looked, and I was pretty sure that I wasn’t material for a few more days of racing through the frozen north.

Looking at myself in the mirror, contemplating a peaceful end to the race, then and there, that would have me in a warm hotel room in an hour, I realized this really was the moment of truth. Would I listen to my body, brain, and feelings, which all sent a resounding message that quitting the race was clearly the path to take, or would I pursue the dream of finishing my first expedition adventure race and, eventually, becoming one of the best in the world at the sport?

To my five-year-old ears, rattling on along a washboard road amongst the lodgepole pine in the mountain town of Evergreen, Colorado, Dad sounded just like the infamous Tour de France commentator, Phil Liggett. If you think Liggett is enthusiastic and inspirational in calling a cycling race—and for those who haven’t heard him, he really is second in passion to only those crazy Spanish soccer callers—you should have heard Dad cheering me on.

I was LeMond. Greg, that is, winner of the 1986, 1989, and 1990 Tours de France, and, thankfully, a clean and legitimate professional rider. I had just edged out Bernard Hinault, in reality LeMond’s teammate and primary competitor. He was the guy we rooted against when watching Le Tour on one of our four TV channels, and he was played out on the dirt road by Dad.

Earlier in the ride, during the part that was supposedly fun but mostly just filled with the physical pain that was already grooming my body and mind, Dad rode just behind me as I struggled up a steep hill. We biked through our neighborhood, which consisted of houses speckled in the woods along a network of dirt roads built according to topography. Not a block grid or paved road in sight. TV came in for all of the houses through a lone, four-foot antenna atop the mountain behind the neighborhood. Limited phone lines meant multiple houses shared a “party line.” I figured everyone lived in a place like this, that kids all around the world were also out “hammering the hills.”

We passed the point where Jefferson County stops maintaining a road. Evergreen actually isn’t even an official town, just “unincorporated Jeffco,” as they say in the fire warnings. E-town has changed over the last 25 years, but, thankfully, we still don’t have a mayor.

The road kicked up and got even rockier. I grunted. Well, probably squeaked—I was five. A burro inside the barb wire corral on the hillside brayed. My rear tire spun in the loose stuff, but I gained traction and continued. Just as I was about to put a foot down, Dad tucked in next to me and just behind, his calm voice presenting what would become the central curriculum of my upbringing. “You can do it, Bud. Keep hammering, Bud. Don’t stop on the climb, Bud. Hammer the hills, Bud. Commit to it, Bud. It’s all good mental training, Bud.” I made it to the top of a hill that had looked impossible. Dad believed in me, and that made me believe in myself.

My mental training had begun.

A few weeks later, my next big lesson took place in America’s highest incorporated town (yes, they have a mayor, and in 1988 he was probably the kind of guy who wore a cowboy hat and carried a gun), Leadville, Colorado. Dad, who had never run more than a marathon, signed up for, committed to, and finished the Leadville Trail 100 Run. I was there, and I watched it unfold.

I’ll never forget crossing the finish line with Dad for the first time in Leadville. His broken body, like those of other Leadville finishers then and now, somehow continued to surge forward, even though it clearly should not be moving anymore. In the background, the Rockie Mountains, including the race’s high point on Hope Pass at 12,600 feet loomed. His gaze, coming up 6th Street dangerously close to the 10:00 a.m. cutoff after 30 hours of racing, was fixed on the finish banner. His eyes were bloodshot and sleep-deprived, yet somehow full of life and energy. Exhausted beyond comprehension, he could hardly speak but managed a sincere smile for his children when we ran out to hold his hand while he shuffled the final 20 meters of red carpet to the finish. The course crushed him, and he finished, literally, dead last. His hamstrings were shredded and his feet were broken.

This was all good mental training, and Dad went on to finish Leadville four more times, earning the big, prestigious, shiny, sub-24 hour belt buckle. You can put it on your belt, but you can’t actually wear it around because it’s so big that it pokes into your stomach if you sit down. He won the Iditashoe, a 100-mile snowshoeing race in Alaska on the Iditarod trail, three times. He’s one of a few people to have finsihed eight Eco-Challenges, which were epic, expedition length adventure races in the most challenging terrain the globe has to offer. (If you’re thinking, “I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel,” you’re right).

That focus on mental training and exposure to seeing people complete lengthy and challenging athletic undertakings as a matter of fact were key elements of my upbringing. I remember, for example, when I was 11, seeing Marshall Ulrich’s toenail-less toes when he was sitting by the pool in Death Valley at the Badwater Ultramarathon. Surgically removing his toenails, Dad explained, allowed Marshall to be more effective in running races of 100 miles or more because he didn’t have to deal with the hassle of toenails constantly getting smashed and falling off. That seemed normal enough to me. Dad went on to explain that Marshall didn’t possess any special genetics or talent, but that he was the best in the world at running far in the heat because he was so mentally tough. I was just a kid, but I was, thankfully, wise enough to realize that I should probably pay attention to the grit and habits of people like Marshall.

A decade later, a mediocre college running career at CU-Boulder showed that I, like Dad and Marshall, didn’t have anything special when it comes to innate talent. I still don’t, and, genetically, I’m pretty much a regular, skinny 30-year-old. I spend most of my time working and changing diapers, and when the rubber hits the road, the only things that really keep me going as an elite athlete are mental toughness and reliance on the simple principles I’d like to share in this book.

When I graduated from CU, my mental training had been such that I was ready to do something hard. The captains of Team Sole, a professional adventure racing team, must have seen that, and they decided to take me to Explore Sweden, even though I was young and had almost no experience.

Paul Romero and Karen Lundgren, those team captains, are two of the toughest, no-holds-barred people I know. They have battled through the harshest, most wide-ranging conditions imaginable, completing the Seven Summits and dozens of expedition adventure races. Their team motto was “Go fast, take chances,” and they must have seen something in my mindset when they took a chance on me because I certainly didn’t have the racing resume at 22 years old to show I could race for five days against the best teams in the world.

__________________(This story continued in post for 12/11/13).

If all goes as planned, this story and others will become a book intended to help readers develop a winning mindset for work, family, athletics, and other areas of life. If you happen to be an interested publisher, please drop me a line at travis.macy@gmail.com.

Monday, October 7, 2013

A big prize purse attracted an epic field at the first edition of the Epic Mountain Challenge in Pogosa Springs, Colorado, and domestic and international pros were treated to fast, relatively flat racing. Coming off the Leadman series, the leg turnover and cycling power on the flats were a challenge for me, and I finished just out of the money behind a number of top XTERRA, mountain biking, and duathlon specialists.

Josiah Middaugh remained strong as ever, besting young phenom Howard Grotts and Brian "Smithy" Smith. From what I can tell, everyone who lives in Gunnison has a nickname, and the always-hammering Mr. Smith is no exception. Team competition was also incredible, with very talented runners and mountain bikers putting on a show.

Over two days, we completed a half marathon run, 19-mile cross country mountain bike, 10k road running criterium of seven flat laps, and a short, 3k uphill mountain bike time trial. The half marathon and xc mtb involved some fun, twisty trails and short climbs combined with fast flats.

The organizers from GECKO did an excellent job with the event, and I look forward to seeing it grow!

Thanks, as always, to my sponsors. Vitargo S2 was huge in allowing me to race hard for four events in two days, and the Hoka One One Bondi B shoes kept my legs feeling, well, as fresh as they could, given all of the fast miles.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Running, I was reminded by the enthusiastic students of Evergreen Country Day School, is all about fun, camaraderie, pushing yourself, and, generally, making the most of life. I thoroughly enjoyed a few hours at ECDS for the annual Run 4 Education event last week.

In theory, I was there as the "celebrity runner," who's goal was to boost the students' spirits. In reality, however, they were the ones boosting me, reminding me of the fact that training and racing really are manifestations of play and self-expression. Thanks for having me, ECDS!

When Nathan talks, we should all listed. Nathan is not only one of the best adventure racers ever, but he is a good person, and honest guy, and someone who speaks from the heart. I’ve been lucky to race around the world against Nathan, and he has often helped me and my team (most notably helping us with a crucial kayak repair literally moments before the start of a race last year in China), and we have enjoyed many laughs together.

Philosophically, I absolutely love the idea of competing with the stars and stripes on my back in a race to bring a World Championship home to my country. Nathan is right--winning a race for the country would truly mean so much more. I have moved away from a primary focus on adventure racing over the past few years (my domestic racing has been running and mountain biking, and I have continued to compete in international adventure races where prize money and world class competition exist), but if a legitimate system and solid funding existed to enable the best adventure racers in America to come together on a National Team to represent the country at the Adventure Racing World Championship, I would be strongly encouraged to funnel training and racing efforts in this direction. I have often dreamed of competing for Team USA, and doing so in an Adventure Racing World Championship against Team France, Team New Zealand, Team Australia, Team Brazil, Team China, Team Sweden, and the others would be something worth putting all other racing on hold for. When push comes to shove, I think I, like many other athletes, would be just a bit more motivated in training and in racing if I knew I was competing with my country behind me.

So, how does this happen? It’s definitely easier said than done.

Here are a few thoughts.

Selecting a Team USA (or Teams USA; each country could possibly send two or three teams to represent it) would be interesting. The best four athletes do not necessarily make the best team, and a team that has a chance of winning a world championship must have raced together, many times, in order to be ready to win. Where running, biking, and other sports can select athletes based on individual results, this is not necessarily true in adventure racing.

Funding is the biggest barrier. In order to race as Team USA on the international stage, funding from “USA” (whatever that means, and I don’t think Uncle Sam is going to sponsor the team) must exist. Ideally, that would include travel, entry, and athlete support (even a monthly stipend to allow athletes to really train and advance in the sport) on a year-round basis. Is real funding for “Team USA” even a remote reality? I don’t know. Would companies put significant money into a team called “Team USA”? Maybe; I think bike manufacturers, for example, pay to have their bikes ridden by Team USA, though I don’t know the details of such arrangements. Could there be a “Team USA Sponsored by Tecnu” or “Team USA Sponsored by Tecnu, Hoka, Giant, and Walmart”? Sounds funny, but it all costs a lot of money, and companies might require such naming rights to buy in.

The impact on current multi-national teams is also a significant concern. Team Thule is composed of athletes from different countries who have dedicated their lives to being the best in the world and advancing the sport. They are incredible athletes and great people, and breaking up teams like this would be a bummer. Team Tehcnu has also raced with multi-national rosters. Though I can’t speak for them, I think this may happen in some cases simply because enough top American racers were not available for a given race or season of racing. Some of my most fulfilling racing experiencing have been in competing with Kiwis, Canadians, Aussies, Swedes, Frenchmen, and others. At the international races, one really does get a sense of being part of a big family, and racing with people from other countries really is fulfilling. Some of the best adventure racers in the world do not easily fall into a certain nationality because they live in one country but were born elsewhere. If your close friends, the people who you know will get you through thick and thin, the people you want to race with in what should be the biggest race of the year, happen to be from another country, shouldn’t you be able to compete alongside them? I think that’s a legitimate question, particularly in the minds of currently-existing multi-national teams.Also, I'm sure Team Tecnu chooses non-American athletes like Bob Miller because they are such strong athletes. Bob is an example of the type of great teammate and experienced racer who could hop in and race with any team around, and it would be a bummer if he was left out of a World Champs because Canada could not fund a team.

The availability of enough top American racers in fielding one or more teams to beat the Kiwis, Aussies, French, and Swedish is a concern. I hate to say it, but there are more world class adventure racers in the tiny town of Nelson, New Zealand and its immediately surrounding countryside than there currently are in all of America. I’m not exaggerating, and if you’ve raced at a top international event, you know it’s true. Fielding one or more top national teams to represent the USA would require organizational development of upcoming athletes, mentorship by older athletes (as Nathan mentions, that’s in their blood in NZ), and, most significantly, the funding to allow people to devote time to these endeavors. Getting there is not impossible, but it’s not simple. Many of the best adventure racers are athletes who can also choose to compete and make a bit of money in other sports, like ultra running, mountain biking, and/or triathlon. I hate to keep coming back to money, but funneling such athletes towards adventure racing will require funding from either Team USA, corporate sponsor(s), or both. All of those world class adventure racers in Nelson can be friends, train together, and synergistically advance the sport for their country, even if they race against each other at some of the events. The US does the same thing with the Olympic Development Center and other such programs for various sports, and growing a program to beat the Kiwis might require such a specified program, especially since adventure racers in the US are spread over such a vast area as compared to New Zealand.

Other not-quite-mainstream sporting organizations have created or attempted to create a Team USA, and adventure racing might look to them for positive and negative examples. The US Mountain Running Team, for example, sends a squad to the World Championship each year, and the US has done very well there. I think the team is able to provide funding to get athletes there. As mentioned, adventure racing is much more expensive, and a single race with solo athletes would not be a good way to select the best team(s) of four. For a variety of reasons, it’s not that simple in adventure racing.

On the one hand, racing as Team USA may cut off sponsorship from companies. On the other, a World Champs consisting of country vs. country would make for awesome TV around the world if the networks bought in. And I think money chases TV coverage, so maybe that’s a route to take. Anyone out there work for NBC? Internet video could be another avenue.

So, should the AR World Series race directors shift immediately to a requirement for single-nationality teams? The choice is not simple. If a requirement for single-nationality teams is imposed, the directors might consider providing advance notice of one or two years to allow less-prepared countries, like America (and probably most countries beyond New Zealand, Australia, Sweden, and France), to be ready to legitimately race for a World Championship and to maybe even, somehow, devise a funding structure to make national teams a reality. This could even allow some athletes to apply for multiple-citizenship, if it’s that important to them. I mention the countries above because I think they could possibly be closer to at least fielding one or more strong, single-nation teams (though I could be wrong about that), not necessarily because I think they have the financial support of a national organization in place.

Plus, Team USA would have to start paddling like crazy--immediately--to be able to hack it on the water without any ringers from overseas!

I’m only joking...kind of.

I’m curious about your thoughts and ramifications/potential for a national team for other countries.

Travis Macy

Endurance athlete and coach

www.travismacy.com

Two Americans, a Kiwi who now lives in Sweden, and an Australian legend. Three "generations," arguably, of adventure racers. We were a good team, and we had fun.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Spurred on by ultra running-bastardized lyrics ("Don't stop, keep it movin' 'til you're fixed up," I sang, even though I never really got "fixed up") to a cheesy pop song played on loop in my head literally from start to finish (20 hours and 15 minutes of J-Lo...wow), I finished the Leadville Trail 100 Run this weekend and set a new record for the Leadman Series of 36 hours, 20 minutes. Thankfully, I also thought intermittently about Wyatt saying, "Go, Daddy, go," which was particularly during the hard times, like when pacer Shane Sigle force-fed me Cheetos on the paved section coming back to Fish Hatchery. "Way to go, Trav, you just ate four Cheetos--that's awesome!" The things to which running reduces us...

Thanks dearly to my family, crew, and pacers--it really was a true team event for us! Vitargo S2 provided awesome fuel, and I also appreciate the support from GENr8Strength, Ultimate Direction, CW-X, HokaOneOne, and AYUP lights (someone on the course actually said, "Wow, you get the award for the brightest lights!"). Coach Josiah Middaugh's workouts were great (well, significantly beneficial, if not always purely "fun"), and our relationship continues to help me with my own training and endurance coaching.

I'm going back and forth between shivering, sweating, and hobbling around the house at the moment, so details will have to be brief for the moment.

After 282.3 miles of trail running and mountain biking around America’s highest incorporated city, Leadville, I'm ready for a little break. The pinnacle of the Leadville Race Series that includes the world famous Leadville 100 Mountain Bike and Trail Run races, the Leadman is a six-week event that requires athletes to keep coming back for more as they race for the lowest combined time in five events: a trail running marathon that tops at 13,186’, a 50-mile mountain biking or running race that climbs over 7,000’ on gnarly Rocky Mountain mining trails, the legendary Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race now featuring some 2,000 competitors, the “insult to injury” 10k Run the day after biking 100 miles, and, last but not least, one week later, the storied Leadville Trail 100 Run, during which, “We send you over the biggest, baddest mountains this country has to offer,” according to pre-race speaker Colt Chlouber.

Racing this many long, high altitude events at a high level over a short time tests an athlete’s commitment and asks a lot of his or her family. I’m really lucky to have a great support team, and my wife and I enjoyed camping with our kids at each of the events. My dad finished his first Leadville Trail 100 Run in 1988 when I was five, and winning Leadman is kind of a homecoming for me--it means as much as any race I’ve done. One aunt and three of my uncles, including Eric Pence, who crossed the line for the 19th time this year, have finished the LT100 Run, so I had to knock it out one of these days.

I’m just trying to show busy adults like me, who have kids and a job, that they really can follow their dreams in athletics and otherwise. Having kids is a reason to pursue greatness, not ignore it, and it’s all about making a commitment and using your time efficiently. Bob Africa and Luke Jay really pushed me out there. They are both tough competitors and excellent guys.

The Leadville Race Series, which pushes and proves founder Ken Chlouber’s idea that “You’re better than you think you are--you can do more than you think you can” is at www.leadvilleraceseries.com.

I think Tim Wagonner, who set the previous record last year, may be gunning for a return next year. I wish him luck and I think he's got a solid chance of taking the record down a notch, primarily through a faster LT100 run time, which he's shown he can do. Dave Mackey (sorry to let the cat out of the bag, buddy) has also been talking about it, and he'll be really tough to beat as well.Some notes on the races:Leadville Trail Marathon3:38, 2nd overall, 1st LeadmanLow: Didn't win the race.High: Ran hard and fast, and really let it rip at the end.Moral: Getting kicked all night by a two-year-old in your 1975 Rancho El Rae camping trailer is actually good race prep.

Every dad's dream moment.

Silver Rush 50 MTB
4:07, 9th overall, 1st Leadman
Low: Went out too hard and suffered for the entire race.
High: So did everyone else. It's a brutal mountain bike race at 10,000', after all.
Moral: Don't be like everyone else, and go out easier at LT100 bike.

Leadville 100 MTB
7:32, 39th man (41st overall, if you include the two women who crushed me), 1st Leadman
Low: 17 minutes slower than 2011. But that's OK.
High: Suffered, but not needlessly. Went out very conservative, stayed consistent, and finished without really going into debt.
Moral: If running 100 miles, don't race 100 miles on the bike a week before. If you have to, hold back a bit.

Leadville 10k Run
Finished way back and got beat by a bunch of Leadmen.
Low: Took place the day after the 100 bike. Had to really control the urge to race when some other guys went harder.
High: On a rare weekend without the kids, I enjoyed a lot of good time reading and hanging out with Dad.
Moral: Figured I could go ten minutes faster in the 10k but risk going five hours slower next week in the 100 run due to pounded legs. I think I was right, and I felt fine six days later.

Leadville 100 Trail Run
20:15, 15th overall, 3rd Leadman
Low: Just the usual ultra running issues. Lots of Sportslick required in nasty places.
High: Racing with Luke and Bob, and seeing them both succeed. Finishing close enough to Bob, even after he REALLY laid it down, to win the series (Bob also broke the previous record). Seeing Uncle E reach #19, one buckle away from the 2,000 mile big one! Running my first 100 and finally joining the family club.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

The Leadman Series has gone well so far, with a good trail marathon and decent Silver Rush 50 MTB. It's time for a good chunk of training before the LT100 MTB on 8/10 and the LT100 Run the next weekend.

In honor of the Leadman series, here are a few videos about MTB pre-race, uphill running, and downhill running. More at www.macycoaching.com.

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Motivational Speaking

Centered on stories, film clips, images, and lessons from decades of world-class level adventure racing, running, and endurance mountain biking, motivational talks delivered by Travis and Mark Macy provide compelling calls to action for corporate, educational, club, and other audiences. The father-son duo tailors its presentation to your needs, focusing on the ways in which lessons from endurance racing apply to work, family, personal fitness, and life in general. Please e-mail travis.macy@gmail.com to book your session.